Ring of Fire
by Alexa Johnson
Summary: ON HIATUS. After Voldemort's defeat, Draco Malfoy disappeared from Wizarding society. Following a chance encounter, Hermione Granger is determined to 'figure him out,' and an offer from Headmistress McGonagall just might give her the opportunity. DMHG. AU
1. Prologue

**RING OF FIRE**

By Alexa Johnson

**_Summery: Voldemort is finally dead, but not everyone is celebrating. His shadow still looms over the wizarding world, and a long kept secret is finally brought to the light. A Draco/Hermione romance. AU. No slash. Rated for language, adult themes/situations._**

_Note: I am sorry this prologue is so short—it's really means as just a small teaser for the future, as I wanted this story to focus on the lingering effects of war and post-war trauma (and romance of course!) rather than the actual war itself. This is also the first Draco/Hermione I've ever attempted, and am a little nervous about trying to pull it off! But I hope it works, and I hope you all will enjoy it!_

**Standard Fanfiction Disclaimer Applies**

* * *

_Prologue _

Harry Potter had finally killed Lord Voldemort, but not everyone was celebrating.

Minerva McGonagall found it hard to be glad when all she could see and smell for miles was death and suffering. She and Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt had been put in charge of a team of Aurors and remaining Order members and had been assigned the task of going through the dungeons far below Malfoy Manor. While Minerva was of the opinion that trying to find survivors in this dreadful place would be much like trying to find a needle in a haystack, she knew it was a necessary, if painful, job. As it turned out, there hardly _were _any prisoners alive, and those that were that unfortunate were so far gone and beyond help that the only thing the Light Team could offer them was a quick, merciful death. She had quickly lost hope of finding any survivors that were salvageable, and felt her anger rise. If only they had kept Lucius Malfoy and the other Death Eaters in Azkaban when they had the chance, maybe…

"_FUCK!"_

The startled shout from Kingsley drew Minerva out of her unpleasant ruminating, and she shook herself to come back to the present. Whatever he had seen had to have been horrible, more horrible than what they'd _been _seeing, and Minerva felt what remained of her heart drop out of her onto the cold cobbled floor.

She had a hard time imagining something that _could _be worse than what they'd seen.

"Minerva! You'd better come down here, quick!"

She followed the shrill, panicked sound of his voice, which sounded very much unlike Kingsley, she realized. Whatever it was must've traumatized him badly, since part of what made him one of the best Aurors on the field was his remarkable ability to appear calm in practically any situation. Maneuvering her way through the pockets of Aurors and Order members, she finally reached Kingsley's side, where he was standing before a cell away from the rest, in the darkest part of the dungeon. _The part for traitors. _It was definitely not Severus—he had been discovered a short time ago and had been fortunate enough to escape with his life, only to emerge in the final battle to duel with Lucius, where…

But Minerva viciously cut off this train of thought before it could finish.

Who else could it be? 

And then she looked, and swore her jaw must've fallen to the ground in shocked disbelief. The figure was chained to the ceiling, feet a few inches above the ground, and hardly recognizable beneath the blood and the dirt. But Minerva knew immediately who it was, and almost broke down right then in relieved sobs. She could not believe she had allowed herself to forget—but then they'd all thought he was dead, and even now he was too still, too mangled, too…

Kingsley had stepped in the cell, hurried over to the battered, limp body, and checked for a pulse. He turned to stare at Minerva, eyes wide as small moons.

"Merlin's beard…_he's alive…"_

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED**

_Like it? Hate it? Intrigued? Let me know in a thoughtful review! More to come soon in a guaranteed huge chapter!_


	2. Chapter One

Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed! As promised, here is the next chapter, and everything will be more or less explained in time—I hope you all like this next part! And I know songfics are not allowed (so this obviously isn't one) but I was listening to _Something Corporate _while writing portions of this story and thought their song _Break Myself _was very applicable, so I've just inserted two lines before the chapter.

Thanks also to _SwayPippin, ca803, .Smart.Ass.Punk., _and _StarArrow _for taking the time to review! I hope you all enjoy this long chapter!

* * *

Chapter One 

…**About One Year Later…**

* * *

I'm willing to break myself

_To shake this hell from everything I touch_

_**Break Myself, **Something Corporate_

* * *

Headmistress Minerva McGonagall sat at her desk in her office, wondering if she'd just made a mistake.

She didn't know what had possessed her to offer Draco Malfoy the Potions post. It was true that she was in dire need of professors—everyone had agreed it would be best to shut the school down for a year after the War considering it had taken the brunt of the damage from the Final Battle, and Minerva was determined to open it again this September. However, it had only been about three months after she'd found Draco tortured to the brink of death in Lucius Malfoy's dungeons that he'd discharged himself from St. Mungos, insisting he was fine, although Minerva highly doubted he'd recovered. She doubted if any of the Order of the Phoenix would ever recover fully, yet she worried about Draco the most.

At least the members of the Order had each other to go to, to confide in. She didn't think Draco had anyone.

_Oh, Severus, if only you had survived the war, _she thought, the sadness clutching at her heart again. _You were the only one the boy ever completely trusted._

It had been Severus whom Draco had gone to first. Minerva remembered that night well. She had actually been in Severus' office, offering her company and friendship after a Death Eater raid, when Draco had stumbled in, soaking wet, eyes glinting with wild hopelessness, barely aware she was in the room.

"I can't!" There was a pleading note to his crazed voice, as though he were about to fall over a cliff and was hanging on desperately to the edge, "I can't do this anymore!"

She'd hardly needed to ask what he was talking about. Even though Minerva had never spared much affection for the Slytherin, Severus confided in her about the lad endlessly, so much so that even she felt a little sorry for him.

That had been sometime during Draco's sixth year, and the snowball had rolled quickly down the hill from there. The mission of supporting and arming the boy to return to Voldemort's inner circle as a spy was dealt with the utmost secrecy—practically everyone at Hogwarts was aware of Draco's supposed allegiances, and Lucius Malfoy hovered over his son like a hawk, even away from school—and as a result, Minerva, Severus, and Albus were the only three to know of his turning. After the war, issues of the _Daily Prophet _came tumbling out filled with fact and fiction alike. Alongside a plethora of articles describing how Harry Potter finally killed Voldemort—the story was slightly different in each one—there was a section of the newsletter dedicated to each Order member who had fought in the war. Since Minerva was the only one of the original three left who knew the full story behind Draco's activities, she had taken it upon herself to clear the nasty rumors flying around about the Slytherin and had come forth with the truth, backed with solid proof.

After that, the boy had become a hesitant hero in his own right, but he'd already sequestered himself out of sight from the wizarding community. He had been invited to the Awards Ceremony to be presented his Order of Merlin, First Class, but he had failed to show, much to the disappointment of the media and what remained of the Order. Even Harry, Ron, and Hermione had felt a little bad about all the disparaging remarks and poisonous death threats made against Malfoy, and Minerva knew they were especially keen to shake hands with the spy and brush the past away as neatly as they could. Yet she couldn't help the doubt that niggled at the back of her mind like an itch she couldn't reach that maybe she'd made a mistake trying to ease Malfoy back into the wizarding world where he'd undeniably be confronted with his horrific past head on.

A rather brilliant idea then slammed into her like a rude pedestrian, and it seemed so obvious to her now that she couldn't believe she hadn't thought of it right away. Lips curling ever so slightly in what she called her scheming smirk, Minerva straightened another piece of parchment on her desk, dipped her quill into the ink bottle beside her, and began to write another letter, almost certain its recipient would bring a positive response.

Albus beamed down at her from his portrait. "Really Minerva, you have become quite manipulative in your old age." He sounded quite pleased, as though he had been the one to have something to do with it.

"I have only had the best to learn from, Albus," Minerva returned, unable to help a smile.

"My, my, but this is going to be an interesting year," Albus declared gleefully, and his eyes twinkled even while he was trapped inside the portrait. "Do not forget to keep me updated!"

"I would not dream of it, Albus," Minerva answered, giving her old friend a very fond look.

It was going to be a very interesting year indeed.

* * *

With complete disregard to the world around him, Draco Malfoy was currently sitting in his flat on his way to drunken oblivion.

That was how he spent most nights. He'd long ago decided he preferred this reckless lifestyle to sleeping—sleeping was far more painful, and didn't have the nice numb feeling that came after hours of alcohol. The dark bags under his eyes only confirmed this, but since he rarely went outside anyway, there was no one to comment on them, although at some point, Draco knew he'd have to get some kind of a job.

But right now, he was going to finish drinking thank you very much. The lingering tremor in his hands always got increasingly bothersome the more far gone he was, and it was getting harder to hold the bottle steady. Some of the alcohol spilled over his front, and he swore. He knew he should be grateful that there hadn't been more lasting damage, but how could he completely forget about his ordeal when he shook constantly like some bloody invalid? Giving an inarticulate noise, he threw the bottle across the kitchen in a fit of rage and was almost satisfied as he saw it smash against the wall, the remaining liquid splashing onto the floor.

_You're a pathetic mess, boy, _Lucius raged inside his head, _completely pathetic!_

"I am not!" Draco argued, as though he were carrying on a conversation with a person right in front of him.

_Well then, if you think you're so smart, take a look at yourself. You make me sick—you're hardly fit to be a Malfoy. _Draco swore he could almost hear the sneer in Lucius' voice.

Not bothering to clean up the lingering mess from the broken bottle, he pushed himself up from his chair and had to grip the table to prevent himself from falling flat on his face. Even dead, the man continued to insulted him. It was like Lucius was still alive, and had chosen Draco's head to be his new permanent residence. _I don't look _that _bad, _Draco wondered, although his heart wasn't really in his vanity. Needing something else to focus on besides his other dark thoughts—he was starting to run low on alcohol—he decided to go check himself out. Forcing himself through sheer will to go down the hall to the bathroom, he released another round of curses as all he could do was stagger pathetically. Swaying dangerously, he struggled with the doorknob for a few moments and almost gave a sob of relief—_but Malfoy's don't cry—_when he opened the door. He practically collapsed against the sink, and groaning from the effort, struggled to lift his head so he was staring directly into the mirror and found himself looking at a stranger. Draco couldn't help his ragged gasp of disbelief.

He barely recognized himself.

His hair was totally disheveled, the blond so filthy it was practically brown. It was so long it was falling into his eyes and down to his shoulders. No longer a piercing gray, his eyes had dulled completely, and were now listless, lifeless. _Empty._ His body was so starved for sleep that there were thick dark bags beneath his sockets, which had sunk even further into his flesh. Well, what remained of his flesh. He would go days without eating, and what he did eat came right back up. The only thing he could keep down was alcohol, but now even the thought of liquor made him want to vomit.

Had he really deteriorated this much without being aware of it? What had happened to his sense of Slytherin self-preservation? _It had died with Voldemort._

His hands shook traitorously, and he gripped the edge of the sink even harder, so hard his knuckles were practically transparent. Voldemort hadn't expected him to survive, but he had, hadn't he? Yet what good was that when he was like this—if Voldemort saw him now, the crazy psycho would be _happy_. He would have _wanted _Draco to do this to himself. _I knew you were weak all along boy, _his father scolded in his head.

"Fuck you, Voldemort!" Draco screamed, voice raw with agony and pain. "Maybe I want to die, huh? I don't care if that's what you would've wanted—maybe I'm _choosing _not to live, and it has nothing to do with you!"

Only silence answered his agonized shout, but it was broken by a sudden, violent pecking noise at the closed window in his cramped kitchen. Draco jumped, almost collapsing to the cold tiled floor.

Pecking? That could only be from… 

Urging himself not to fall down, he concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other and painstakingly made it back to the kitchen. The sight that greeted him at the window was enough to make him completely forget about his current drunken state, and the haze lifted somewhat from his mind.

_It _was _an owl._

After he'd discharged himself from Poppy's care, put the Manor up for sale and bought a small flat in downtown London, Draco had cut himself off entirely from the wizarding world. He had no desire to see any of them—he might have wanted to keep in touch with Snape, but the former spy had died in the war, making one final stand to sacrifice himself for Potter so the boy could finish off Voldemort. Despite what Draco had done for the Light, despite that he'd practically lost his life for it, he doubted that he'd be welcomed very warmly. After all, he _was _a Slytherin, and by the time his school years were up, every other house had practically hated him. However, he _had_ been invited to the Award Ceremony, but he'd refused to come. He supposed the invitation had been McGonagall's doing—she _had _been the one to find him, after all, and had been the one to clear his name. Even so, very few people chose to acknowledge this, despite the proof, and he knew without reading it that the _Daily Prophet _had circulated with rumors about him after the War.

The sudden flapping against his window reminded him of his current situation, and after hesitating slightly, he unlocked the window and pushed it open. The owl flew in and perched itself on the counter, feathers puffed and looking very put out that it had had to wait that long. Completely baffled, Draco just stared at it, wondering who on earth could be sending him a letter. The last time he checked, he had no friends who'd want to contact him. His curiosity finally getting the better of him, Draco put out a tentative hand and took the letter off its leg with shaking hands. As he turned the envelope over, he nearly gaped at what he saw.

It was the Hogwarts' seal.

What the fuck… 

Numbly, he broke the seal and took out the letter with shaking hands, greeted with Headmistress McGonagall's spidery script.

_Dear Mister Malfoy,_

_Due to our extreme shortage of teachers, I am writing to offer you the position of Potions Professor. You are, of course, under no obligation to accept, and may stay for however many years you would like. If you are interested, please let me know by owl so that I can arrange a time for you to come meet with me briefly in person. It is my sincerest hope that this letter finds you well._

_Sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

Draco just stared at the letter for many long minutes while a silent battle raged on inside him. It went something like this:

_A professor. You could be a fucking professor._

I don't want to teach!

Well, you're not really doing a whole lot with your life anyway. What have you got to loose that you haven't already lost?

I was going to look for a job.

Were you really? 

There was silence, and then: Maybe?

_It might be good for you._

But I can't drink at Hogwarts!

The thought was so sudden and unexpected it almost made Draco jump. Had he really been depending on the alcohol that much? He supposed he had. He hadn't been doing that much else, really.

_You're pathetic, _his father's voice sneered inside him. _Nothing but a weakling, a traitor.…a failure…_

"GET OUT OF MY HEAD!" the sudden yell startled the owl, who squawked indignantly. Draco ignored it. He was too busy clutching the sides of his head, trying desperately to shake the unwanted voice of his father out. _Go away, _he pleaded with it.

Goawaygoawaygoaway… 

_I'm going crazy, _Draco realized, his stomach churning unpleasantly. Malfoys simply didn't _do _insanity—they were always calm and collected. _I'm going crazy, and all I have is my bastard dead father's voice to keep me company…_

The bloody owl hooted again, and Draco glowered at it.

"Fine," he muttered, "I'll do it. It's not as though I have thousands of other job offers to choose from…"

He turned the letter over, grabbed a quill and bottle of ink that were lying haphazardly on the counter and scratched a simple reply:

_Dear Headmistress McGonagall,_

_I am interested. If it is no trouble, I'd prefer to meet with you straight away so I can start reviewing. It has been awhile since I have even thought of Potions, after all. Let me know when you can meet with me as soon as you can. Thanks._

_Sincerely,_

_Draco Malfoy_

Satisfied, he rolled the letter back up and attached it to the owl's leg. The bothersome bird pecked his hand, as if it were expecting something before it left. Scowling, Draco said, "Sorry you pest, I have no food for you, unless you like alcohol."

The owl screeched again, and Draco had the distinct impression it was glaring at him—either it was upset that he had no food or it was reprimanding him for all of his drinking. Maybe it was both.

Then with an almost indignant flap of its wings, the owl was gone, and Draco remained staring after it a long while, wondering if he'd imagined the whole thing.

* * *

Hermione Granger was at a crossroads.

Here she was, the brightest witch of her age, heroine of the Final Battle, with job offers piled around her feet like eager puppies, and all she could see ahead of her was a path of confusion and indecision. If Harry and Ron were here, they would tell her she was being absolutely ridiculous—she always worried about everything and ended up doing above and beyond the expected each time, so why should this situation be any different? But Harry was training to be Seeker with England's Quidditch team, and Ron was working with the twins in their joke shop that had now reopened after the War, and Hermione was alone in her empty flat and didn't think she was being ridiculous in the least.

To be honest, while reading each text as thoroughly as possible and getting the highest grade had always been important to Hermione in school, preparing for the inevitable War had been the main impetus that got her through the final years of her education. She hadn't really given much thought as to what was going to come next—had almost excepted the frightening possibility that there might not even be a 'next'—and was almost startled to find out that life had indeed gone on after a rocky, painful start at the closing of the War. Even then, Hermione hadn't really needed to think of a possible career—she, along with most of the survivors, had been given a serious wound and other minor injuries, necessitating weeks in the Hospital Wing to recuperate.

Then there had been the weeks of mourning the dead—there was Albus Dumbledore (Hermione's heart still seized up at the thought), Charlie, Bill, and Percy Weasley, Dean Thomas, Lavender Brown, Professors Vector, Sprout, Hagrid, and Snape, Mad-Eye Moody, Colin Creevey, Ernie MacMillan, and countless others—followed by weeks of bittersweet celebration. During that time she along with Harry and Ron had lived at Number 12 Grimmauld Place. But everyone in the Trio had decided they didn't want to reside there permanently, and after promises to keep in touch, had gone their separate ways—Harry with Ginny to a flat on the other side of London (they weren't married yet, but were living together) and Ron with the twins to their joke shop. It wasn't long before Harry received the invitation from England's Quidditch team, and son after he was ensconced in practices and Ginny.

That left Hermione.

She and Ron had tried dating after the War, but after a short period both had agreed that they bickered too much together and were really much better off as friends than lovers. Now she was alone, and while she tried to convince herself the idea didn't bother her that much, she couldn't help but envy Harry and Ginny. Not that they saw much of each other—Ginny was a journalist for the _Daily Prophet_, and was out interviewing people for stories while Harry was at practice. But still. It was the _idea_ of their general togetherness that mattered. What remained of the Weasley family had been waiting for news of their impending engagement for weeks now.

She was glad for them, she really was. While Harry would always have a lingering sadness and weariness about him—they all did, especially the Weasleys, who had probably suffered the most losses from the War—he was happier now that the threat of Voldemort was off his young shoulders, and Hermione knew Ginny had a lot to do with that.

But still.

She'd had her crushes during school, but her only real boyfriend had been Viktor Krum, and that had been a relationship carried out mainly through owl. They had seen each other once during the summer before fifth year, but a couple months later they had both decided the strain of not seeing each other on a somewhat regular basis was too much and had ended it. It had been for the best really, but she'd never had a relationship since then. She could hardly count Ron.

Sighing morosely, Hermione leaned her head back against the sofa in her living room, the book on her lap forgotten. She had always known she would never be extraordinarily beautiful, and for the longest while she hadn't been bothered by the thought at all. Yet she knew she was by no means ugly, although perhaps a bit above average at best. Still, she was far prettier than most of the girls she saw with boys on their arms, and she couldn't help but wonder what set her apart, what she was doing wrong.

Maybe she scared people away. Ron and Harry were always telling her she was "brilliant but scary," but they were hardly ones to judge. They forgot she even _was _a girl most of the time, and when Ron finally _did _start to notice, it really was too late although they did try. She shouldn't blame them, really—Voldemort had been a far bigger concern than worrying about silly things like crushes, but even so, she wouldn't have minded the attention.

_Now look who's the one worried about silly things like crushes, when you should be more worried about choosing a job, _she chided herself mentally. It was no use crying over spilt milk—that had been one of her mother's favorite Muggle clichés—what was done was done, and she had more important things to do. She certainly wasn't going to find a boyfriend while moping about in her flat.

A sudden urgent tapping drew her from her ruminations, and startled, she twisted around to look and found herself face to face with an owl. It was one she didn't recognize, and she couldn't help but wonder who would be writing to her. She had just seen Harry, Ron and the Weasleys a couple weeks ago, and wasn't due to see them again until next month.

_Well, plans _could _change, _she thought to herself as she got up and headed over to the window to let the impatient looking bird in. The owl perched on the windowsill while she took the letter from its leg, and she couldn't stifle a gasp as she saw the seal on the back of the envelope.

"Merlin!" she breathed aloud, "why could I possibly be getting mail from Hogwarts?"

Unless… 

Heart starting to beat faster from excitement, Hermione tore the letter open and almost did a dance of joy right there in her living room.

"Yes, a thousand times yes!" she cried to nobody in particular, hugging the letter to her chest, her entire body bursting with ecstasy.

Things were _finally _starting to go right again.

It was about time.

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED 

This was one of those necessary exposition chapters. The scene has been set, and do not worry—more of the mysteries of the war will be explained! There are still wayward Death Eaters on the loose (coughBellatrixcough) to provide a bit of excitement later on, but this story is not really about action on the whole. I am positive you will all be able to imagine where this story will be going. I'm sure the whole idea is cliché, but it's the way it's written that counts, after all. So stay tuned! The next chapter is finished for the most part, and all I need to do is edit it. However, I'm not going to post it until I'm at least halfway through Chapter Three, so it should be up in a week or two perhaps. I know I'm due for an update for **Harry Potter and the Prince of Slytherin**, so I'll try to get to that as soon as I can. A shameless plug for the new one shot I have up called **Beautiful Disaster **featuring baby Draco, Severus, and Narcissa, and I'd be thrilled if you all would check it out!

In the meantime, please **review, review, review**! It always thrills me to hear from my readers, even if it's only a couple words. Please don't lurk…let me know you were here! If you made it this far, it'll only take a few seconds more to press that blue button!

_See you all next time!_


	3. Chapter Two

**So because I'm leaving for conservatory in two days, y'all are getting this chapter earlier than I planned. Lucky you! I don't know when the next update will be since I'm going to be drowning in college soon, but I'm also starting on a fic for a FicExchange in a little bit, so that will take priority for a while. But don't loose hope! I'm not planning on giving up this story.**

**Thank you to _SwayPippin _and _IrethMalfoy _for reviewingand to everyone else who read even if you didn't review (shame on you! Hehe). I really do enjoy hearing your feedback! I just thought I'd say now that I am the only beta for this story, and while I've edited this as thoroughly as possible, all remaining mistakes are mine. (I may have to take you up on your generous offer to help beta, _SwayPippin_…I'll be in touch! Thank you for the extension of your services!)**

**And now, without further ado…the chapter!**

* * *

Chapter Two

* * *

"_Aw, is poor ickle Dwackie scared?"_

_There were mirthless, sadistic sniggers all around, but Draco merely glowered, and would have done more were it not for the _Silencio _his crazy Aunt Bellatrix had cast upon him as she and a few other Death Eaters entered his cell. He knew they had done that on purpose, the sick bastards—they told him they would stop when they heard him screaming and begging for mercy (he would die before he gave them that satisfaction), but he couldn't very well be heard screaming and begging for mercy if he couldn't make sounds, could he? They wouldn't kill him—that was far too easy a death for a traitor, and besides, the Dark Lord had expressly forbidden that—but they could torture him to the brink each time. They let him suffer in pain and misery for a few days, almost healed him completely, and then began their fun again._

_Draco wondered if they would ever tire of this routine, but apparently they never grew bored of this monotony. Sometimes Lucius was there, and sometimes he wasn't. Fortunately for Draco, the bastard had chosen not to show for this round, although that was the only happy thought he could muster at the moment._

_He strained against the chains that bound him to the wall, wanting to break free of them so he could strangle Bellatrix's pathetic life out of her pathetic body. He wanted to kill them, kill them all, like they were killing him..._

"_Do you not want to be a part of the fun we're about to have, my wittle nephew?" The crooning singsong could not have come from a more repulsive person, and Draco felt himself surging with a scornful, almost hysterical laugh at the bitter irony of it all. "Maybe you'll change your mind once we start…"_

_Draco braced himself, knowing exactly how this would begin. Bellatrix wasn't very creative, even by Death Eater standards. The Cruciatus was her favorite curse, and she therefore used it as often as possible. He doubted this time would be any different._

"_Crucio!"_

Right again, _Draco thought breathlessly, arching his back, the pain worse because he couldn't writhe freely on the ground, clamping down on his mouth so hard to prevent it from opening he could taste blood, metallic against his tongue, because even if they couldn't hear him they'd know he was screaming and he couldn't let that happen because his pride was all he had left, all he had left in the world…_

When Draco finally wrenched himself out of the nightmare, he thought he was still dreaming.

He was tangled in his sheets, and like a maze, couldn't find his way out of them. They were wrapped all around him, pulling him down with them, and the room was bathed in darkness, he couldn't see, he couldn't escape, the Death Eaters were going to come back and torture him soon, but his body still tingled from the Cruciatus, and—

And he was in his small bedroom, he was safe, free from the dark, lonely, miserable time he'd been in captivity. Except it was still dark and he was still lonely and miserable and sometimes it seemed to Draco like he was still in captivity, just of a different kind (even if it had been of his own making). Perspiration had glued his fine hair to his forehead, and now that he'd somewhat adjusted to his surroundings he allowed himself to calm his breathing, although his heart still seemed to be going as fast as a speeding car. Ever since his physical recovery, he'd always had nightmares, and couldn't seem to sleep for more than an hour before they set in. Then, knowing it would be fruitless to attempt the fight for more sleep, he'd end up wandering into the kitchen where he'd drink himself into blissful oblivion, usually ending up in an unconscious stupor on the kitchen floor. But it had been a long while since he'd woken up feeling so disoriented.

September first was only a week away now, so he supposed his anxiety levels had increased at the thought of returning to the wizarding world. He was already starting to have doubts, wondering if he had been drunker than he thought when he signed his consent. He'd already met with McGonagall, and that had been painful enough. But then she had hugged him, actually _hugged _him, and that was when he realized he'd been more starved for human affection than he'd thought.

It had been so long since someone had touched him without wanting to harm him that he'd almost forgotten other sorts of touching existed. He had resisted at first, but it hadn't lasted long, and had soon found himself clinging to her, that if he let go she'd vanish like a mirage in a desert. Imagine that—Draco Malfoy, _clinging. _The word made him cringe from the shame of his weak emotional state. He had almost burst into tears right there, but he'd probably forgotten how to since he hadn't really cried since…

Well.

He'd rather not dwell on that, or he might break that record. He was too numb for tears—his body was so cold it froze them on the spot, so there they were now sitting inside him (Draco swore he could feel them sometimes) and all it would take was someone or something to thaw them and then they'd break free. But seeing as how he hardly had someone or something around him to make that possible and all he became was colder and colder, he highly doubted that would happen any time soon.

He sighed heavily as he glanced at the clock on the table beside his bed, and almost screamed in frustration when he saw it was only a little after nine. He'd known it was early, but not _that _early. There was no way he was getting back to sleep, and he suddenly felt as though his apartment were suffocating him. He had to get out, had to escape, at least for a little while.

Struggling out of bed (he'd fallen asleep in a white shirt and black trousers), he shrugged his feet into his trainers that he'd kicked off onto the floor, shuffled down the short hall to the closet by the front door, grabbed a light jacket, shoved his arms into it and left, locking the door behind him.

He had no idea where he was going, but anywhere was better than there.

* * *

When Draco saw the small pub at the corner of the street several blocks down (well maybe it was more than several, he hadn't really been paying attention to where he was going), he immediately knew that this was where he wanted to go. He had already checked his pockets and had found a wad of Muggle money left over from the last time he'd gone out, and making sure the hood of his jacket was securely around his head—there was no telling who was a wizard in these predominantly Muggle neighborhoods, and he had no particular desire to be recognized—he pushed open the door and walked in.

The air was thick and filled with smoke. It was a small pub, adorned with a few round tables and a bar. Since it was evening, the room flickered with meager candlelight, one for each table. Most of the tables were full, mainly with older single men and women, although there were some laughing couples as well. Resolutely ignoring everyone (although he spared a few sneers for the couples), Draco sauntered over to the bar and plunked himself down on an empty stool.

The bartender, an aging man with a slight stoop to his shoulders, glanced over at him, and Draco ordered, "The strongest stuff you've got," not even bothering to exchange pleasantries. Exchanging pleasantries meant he was somehow open to conversation since he had chosen the bar and he had no one with him—and there happened to be no one else sitting up here—but he was most definitely _not _open to conversation, and he wanted to make that very clear.

Giving Draco a brusque nod, the bartender strode over to the back to prepare Draco's drink, and if Draco hadn't been holding his head down, he would have seen the man give him a curious look.

The beverage was ready shortly, and once the bartender had it before him, Draco slumped over it, gripping the mug tightly in his hands. He'd better make the most of this night, considering it was probably going to be the last chance he had to get really smashed until the Winter Holidays.

"Here's to Hogwarts," he muttered, thinking _it was going to be a long night _as he started on his first drink.

It was about an hour later when he finally left, and if he'd any idea what Fate would have done to him after he staggered out of the bar (he knew he didn't have the necessary focus required to Apparate) and collapsed in a dead drunken faint in the middle of some sidewalk a block down, he probably would have never left his flat.

* * *

While she would always harbor scorn for Divination, Hermione had always possessed a love for the stars, and had taken it upon herself to memorize the positions and names of every constellation in the night sky, and where and when they could be found.

Despite the unpredictable nature of life, there were things she could always count on, and the stars were shortly after her family and Harry and Ron. She knew they were no more than burning balls of gas thousands of miles away, but she found comfort in them. Mythology had always fascinated her, and she eagerly devoured the stories in the library until she knew them all. Whenever she was especially troubled, she would take long walks alone outdoors at night and would be swept up in the peaceful serenity of the evening sky.

Walking happened to be what she was doing now, although she was feeling less burdened and downtrodden than she had for sometime. Now that there was only a week left until Hogwarts' grand reopening—the news had been all over the headlines of the _Daily Prophet _for the past few days—she found herself unable to settle down between the odd mixtures of excitement and anxiety that were plaguing her.

The last year at Hogwarts had been exceptionally dark, fraught with increasing levels of Death Eater attacks not only against Muggles and Half-bloods but Order members as well, Malfoy's mysterious disappearance a few months after the Winter Holidays (at the time, she, Harry, and Ron were convinced he had finally left Hogwarts to move himself firmly over to the Dark Side, although she supposed they all knew better now), and intense training with Dumbledore's Army that had been reopened at popular demand, along with furious studying for the NEWTS. Then there was the War of course, which had come to a head just at the end of the year. Part of what had enabled them to win was the aid of a spy from the other side—nobody had known who he was at the time, and it wasn't the late Professor Snape because his duplicity to Voldemort had been discovered at the end of her sixth year—and it wasn't until after the War that Minerva had told them all it was Malfoy.

Draco Malfoy, Slytherin spy extraordinaire.

Even now, Hermione found this image of Malfoy hard to line up with the image she'd had of him at school. She'd always thought he was a coward beneath his bullying bad boy exterior, although he obviously couldn't be _that _craven if he had been facing Voldemort _and _keeping secrets from him on a daily basis.

She realized then that while Malfoy probably was a cold, heartless bastard—although that was most likely a fault of his upbringing—he had been a bloody good actor during their school days. His face had always been impeccably impassive, and she couldn't help but think that the majority of what they'd mistaken for vanity was Malfoy constantly practicing his expressions in the mirror. That didn't mean Hermione doubted he actually _was _vain, with the way he swaggered around Hogwarts as though he owned it.

Needless to say, there was obviously more to Malfoy than they'd ever given him credit for, although he hadn't really given them much reason to analyze the inner workings of other personalities that might be lurking beneath the surface.

Oh, Malfoy.

He was probably one of the greatest enigmas of the War, and Hermione couldn't help but wonder what had made him want to go spy anyway. Certainly not out of the goodness of his heart. No, there had to be have been some kind of ulterior motive—he was a Slytherin, after all.

Taking her eyes off the sky to glance at the block ahead of her, the sight she saw was enough to put a stopper in her ruminating.

Was that—a figure…lying on the ground a block up? She approached cautiously, and when she could get a closer look her heart froze over like a lake in winter.

She simply couldn't believe it, and her thoughts were in a boiling turmoil. _Of all the bloody coincidences! What in Circe's name was going on? _She kept on walking, and sure enough, she saw the blond hair and pale skin that were trademark Malfoy. The ex-Slytherin was lying at an awkward angle on his side, and, very carefully, Hermione gripped his shoulder and rolled him so he was on his back.

Now that she had a better look at him, she couldn't stifle the gasp that squeezed out of her lips. He was definitely Malfoy, but he looked—to put it very bluntly—absolutely terrible. The hood of his jacket had slipped down his head, and beneath it Hermione saw his blond hair that was even longer than usual, a face that was practically emaciated with his prominent cheekbones sticking out more than ever, and bags beneath his eyes that were so dark _they _even had bags.

What in Merlin's name are you doing here, Malfoy? Did you drop out of the sky, or something?

She had been studying him so intently that she missed his eyelashes flutter against his almost translucent face like butterfly wings.

"_Unnhh…_"

"Malfoy!" she cried, his slurred groan pulling her out of her examination. When no further response seemed to be forthcoming, she prodded his arm with a relentless finger, questioning, "Malfoy?"

Yet her former enemy was as stubborn as ever—even while unconscious—and, with a grunt, merely rolled over again. Throwing her hands up in frustration, a muttered "_boys" _under her breath, she thought of one thing that might bring him out of whatever stupor he was in.

"Harry Potter!" she shouted, right in his ear.

Malfoy's eyes snapped open so quickly Hermione fancied they could've flown right off his face, and they were strangely unfocused and were darting around all over the place. "Wha'?" Malfoy said, words bunching together dangerously like too many beads on a string, "whodunit?"

Oh, sweet Morgana.

Malfoy was bloody _wasted_!

She put her hands on her hips and glowered at him. "Malfoy, are you drunk?"

"Whazat?" he sounded genuinely confused, and Hermione's heart sank as she saw the only solution to the problem that was currently sprawled at her feet. Then he really looked at her, and she could see him struggling to focus on her. "You…look like someone I used to know…"

He was remarkably lucid when he was thinking about it, and Hermione blinked at him, uncertain as to how to respond. How would Malfoy feel to be seeing her right now? More importantly, how did _she _feel to be seeing him right now?

Yet before she had time to answer, for once Malfoy decided to be cooperative. "_Unngh…_prob'ly…seein' things…"

She chose to play along, for the meantime. No sense in creating more trouble than there already was, and besides, she had no idea how much his personality changed when he was drunk. While she'd long since stopped hating him after his true activities had come to light, she didn't really know what to call their relationship anymore. Not enemies, not friends, definitely not lovers…she supposed she could say acquaintances, but they had tormented each other more and more throughout the years as tension continued to escalate between Slytherin and the other houses, although it was mainly Gryffindor house. Still—there were so many questions she longed to ask, although this was hardly the right place and time. She frowned. Malfoy had always been tightly controlled, with—it had taken her awhile to acknowledge this—a sharp mind, and hardly seemed to fit the profile of an alcoholic. He was anything but controlled now, and Hermione couldn't help but wonder what had brought him to this state.

"I guess you are," she said finally, liking this situation less and less. Sometimes ignorance _was _bliss, something she never thought she'd say.

She watched him try to struggle to his feet, her lips quirking upwards in an amused smile. If he honestly thought he'd be able to walk properly like that, his intelligence was more impaired than she'd originally thought.

She saw him get up, fall down, and get up and fall down again. _Well, this is definitely turning into a broken record, _she thought, and, going over to him, demanded, "Where's your flat, Malfoy?"

Sighing in defeat from his place on the ground, he frowned, then pointed left and said, "Tha' way." A beat. "No, tha' way," he corrected, pointing in the opposite direction. Still frowning, his face pinched in intense concentration, he muttered, "No, that's not right…"

"Alright, enough," Hermione said, thoroughly frustrated and annoyed. "I'll take you back to my flat for the night, it's not that far from here."

He turned to look at her, the frown still on his face, his cheeks flushed with what looked like embarrassment.

She almost laughed at the expression on his face—it was so unlike the sneers and smirks Malfoy usually wore—and had to bit her lip to keep it caged inside.

Sucking in a breath, Hermione approached the drunken blond.

"Now, listen," she said, careful not to use his last name now that she had his full attention, "this is what I'm going to do…"

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED**

_Yes, I know, Hermione had to conveniently be walking around the same time Malfoy was out getting drunk, and of course there is only one area of London and they just so happened to be living relatively close to each other. Thoroughly cliché without providing much use for the overall plot, but I couldn't resist—and besides, it will add a bit more tension when they see each other at Hogwarts in a week. Let an author have her bit of fun, will you? cheeky grin We can just call it coincidence, how about it? How ridiculous was it, in all honesty?_

_I cannot guarantee when the next update will be, but this story has just been flowing from my fingertips so it hopefully shouldn't take too long. I can't make any promises, though, but I'm counting on no longer than a month or two at the most!_

_Now you readers know what you need to do…**review, review, review**! Even one word will make my day and will be extremely appreciated…please lurkers, come out of the darkness to the light side of the force (er, wrong fandom I suppose…haha) and let me know you were here!_

_See you next time!_


	4. Chapter Three

**Well, here is the next part, and the longest chapter yet! (I hope you're all not disappointed with the way I've begun it). Thank you to blackXxXblossom, SwayPippin, Emi-Bum, IrethMalfoy, YRAM, samhaincat, .Smart.Ass.Punk., and dracoisthesexiestmanalive for reviewing—and I'm glad you all liked the last part, even if it was one big ridiculous cliché. But the fun (in my opinion, I don't know how Draco and Hermione feel) has finally begun, although there's definitely more angst than humor. The only thing I can lay claim to in this chapter is the Sorting Hat song, and as trivial as it is I am quite proud of it! With that, I hope you enjoy this next chapter, which is out way sooner than expected!**

* * *

_Chapter Three_

* * *

_Hermione Fucking Granger._

Draco still couldn't believe that had actually happened. Of all the bloody people in the universe, she had to be the one to find him that night! Although he supposed it could've been worse. It could've been Potter, or Weasley. The whole thing had been immensely awkward, but he reasoned it would have been more awkward if he hadn't been drunk (but of course, if he hadn't been drunk, none of that fucked up mess would have happened). No, he'd been beyond drunk. He'd been blissfully asleep, even if it was on a sidewalk in the middle of London.

Malfoys do not get wasted. Malfoys especially do not get wasted in public. And Malfoys most definitely don't let Mudbloods find them wasted and accept their help.

While Draco didn't actually believe in all that Pureblood superiority bullshit anymore, it was still hard to kick old habits. In truth, he'd never seen what was inherently bad about the word 'Mudblood.' His entire family was always saying it, and he'd just assumed it was like referring to a Muggle as a Muggle and a Pureblood as a Pureblood. Because that's just what they were—what was so terrible about that? It wasn't until he'd gone to Hogwarts that he'd learned that wasn't exactly the case.

Draco scowled furiously. It didn't matter that Granger was a Mudblood. The simple fact was it had been _Granger. _Bloody hell. He hadn't even known it was her at first—well, he'd remembered that she looked familiar, but that was it—not until he'd woken up on her couch, thoroughly disoriented, sometime in the middle of the night. But the girl had been thoughtful enough to leave a note—and a headache-relieving potion—letting him know who she was and what had happened in case he woke up. He hadn't believed it at first, but he'd taken one look at the photograph of her, Weasel, and Pothead on the table beside the couch, and that had been enough. He'd gotten out of there as quickly as possible while she remained blissfully asleep.

It didn't help that he'd probably never see her again, unless by some stroke of sheer dumb luck. The problem was that he hadn't really been able to get her out of his head since then. It had only been a handful of days, and he was right this moment walking up to Hogwarts from where he'd Apparated just before the grounds, and he'd definitely have too much work to do once work started to think about much else. He was worrying enough about the welcoming feast tomorrow, and felt his stomach twist into unpleasant knots at the thought of eating in front of a sea of students, where the older ones would certainly remember him from when he'd been a student. But he shoved the image forcefully out of his head, and found himself thinking about Granger again.

The truth was he really didn't remember much of it. He had a vague memory of the walk to her flat, but all he could recall was the warmth of her body next to his as she dragged him along the sidewalks—it was too risky to use magic openly in Muggle neighborhoods—the strange feeling of her arm draped around his shoulders, and the shock and anger he'd felt when he'd recognized her. Yet he had no memory of what he said to her, only that somehow he'd Apparated back to his flat from her living room after a few hours of sleep on her couch.

It didn't help that she probably remembered every detail.

Granger.

Why had she helped him? He had almost—_almost_—forgotten about the Golden Trio who lived to add to the hell that was his life. Okay, so that was a lie, but he hadn't thought about them in a long time. Yes, Draco Malfoy had been a spy for the light, but that didn't make him a 'good guy.' He was equally vicious when he encountered Potter and his sidekicks in the hallways, if not more so, and while the act was even more important when he turned from Lucius, he genuinely hated them. He hated the way they laughed together, hated they way they never got punished for breaking rules, and hated the way they tried to spread sunshine and butterflies everywhere they went with their whole everything-will-be-alright-as-long-as-we-have-each-other philosophy. It was sickening, and made him want to vomit.

Someone else might have said he was jealous, but Malfoys didn't do jealousy because they had no reason to be jealous of anyone—they _were _Malfoys after all, and were therefore far superior to everyone else.

But still—somehow, no matter what the situation, it was always Big Bad Malfoy in the wrong and Goody-good Potter and his band of fellow do-gooders who were right, even if they had been the ones provoking him! He never even stood a chance. Such was the extent of their rivalry that by the end of his time at Hogwarts, everyone in the entire school hated him except for the Slytherins, even if they'd never even met him.

So what business did Granger have even messing with him? She should've just let him rot on the sidewalk, and would've saved him the trouble of worrying about how he was going to survive his new status as a Professor. He supposed it was her way of trying to spread sunshine and butterflies to him too. Well, she could keep her fucking sunshine and her fucking butterflies to herself and share them with people who actually deserved and wanted them.

If he were honest with himself, he almost welcomed the distractions Granger's unwelcome presence had brought upon him. It was something familiar, something he could cope with. During all the hardships and upheavals he faced, his hatred for Potter, Granger, Weasley and theirs for him had been the one constant in his life, the one thing he could depend on. Fighting and arguing with them had been his one true pleasure, and he always looked forward to it no matter what the repercussions would bring. It sounded pathetic even to him, but he almost needed them so he could continue to convince himself that everything was the same, that nothing had changed.

Death Eating had been destroying him, ruining him from the inside out and turning him colder and colder, even if he did think the Dark Lord was a crazy psychopath, who was so pathetic he couldn't even murder a fucking _boy_, no older than Draco himself. Each month, he lost a little more of himself, until by the end he could hardly tell the difference between what he was and what he wasn't. It had been Professor Snape who had saved him from himself, but Professor Snape couldn't anymore, could he?

Damn it all to hell and back.

Fuck Granger for making him remember everything again. He'd already lived the past, and would rather not see it again, but it kept on coming back, and he would never be able to run away fast enough to escape it. Maybe that was why he'd accepted McGonagall's offer, so he could confront the past head on and then never have to deal with it again. He supposed that was a little unrealistic—he would always have tremors, nightmares, and the occasional flashback he had in his waking hours. But maybe, just maybe, going back to Hogwarts again would help him learn to cope. He looked up at the front double doors looming before him, took a deep breath, and opened them. If he were really honest with himself, he didn't know how he was going to start coping with his past because he never had, but somehow he would find a way. Was he ready? Hell, he didn't know. He didn't feel ready.

But Malfoys were most definitely _not _cowards, and he was going to face this challenge.

Granger had awakened something in him. He was dimly aware that he'd bickered with her, and that brief taste of familiarity and human contact had made him feel more alive than he had in years.

It had almost been painful, the humiliation aside. He was tired of pain. He was just tired…_so _tired…

"Professor Malfoy!"

The voice jerked him out of his thoughts like a Portkey, and it took him a few seconds to realize that the approaching formidable figure of Minerva McGonagall was talking to him.

You'd better get used to that, Draco. Professor…professor, professor, professor… 

Somehow, repeating the word in his head didn't seem to help.

"Er, hullo Headmistress," he greeted awkwardly, doing his best to school his features into something that resembled calm control.

"Please, Draco, you may call me Minerva now that you are on staff," she invited.

Draco felt his eyes widen. Calling McGonagall _Minerva _was just about as weird, if not more so, than his title of Professor. To make matters worse, he had the distinct impression that she found his discomfort slightly amusing. McGona—_Minerva _had never twinkled while a Professor, but he could have sworn he'd seen the telltale signs of one in her slate eyes just then. Perhaps The Twinkle was a prerequisite for being Headmaster or Headmistress. That would permanently end his chances for the post then—not that he wanted it in the least. Draco just didn't _do _twinkles. They weren't in the One Hundred Ways to Sneer and Smirk handbook.

"I'll try, Hea—Minerva."

_Damn, this was going to be hard._

* * *

Hermione knew she could have easily Apparated to Hogwarts, but she had wanted to take the train.

It was silly, she supposed, but the Express had always been part of the magic for her, and she had wanted to ride the train knowing for that, for once, she didn't have to worry about the terrors Voldemort might bring. She could think of other things, like all the reviewing and studying she had to do for her Arithmancy classes, all the new people she might meet…

…and Malfoy.

She had been sorely tempted to tell Harry and Ron about her encounter with their former adversary, but she had decided to keep the information to herself. She didn't know why. She supposed it was because she still didn't know quite how she felt about the whole thing. He'd been so out of it on the arduous walk home, although they had bickered a little, and she'd rather expected that he was going to leave upon waking once he'd figured out where he was. But still, she couldn't help but wonder what had brought him to that low of a state in the first place.

"Sweet Merlin…_Hermione?_"

The unexpected exclamation drew her out of her ruminations, and turning from the window of the Express she let out a cry of delight as she saw who its owner was.

"Neville!"

Rising from her seat, she hurried to embrace him.

"I thought I was going to be the only member of the new faculty sentimental enough to take the train," Neville confessed, smiling at her. Out of all Hermione's friends at Hogwarts, Neville had probably grown the most. Looking at him now, there was no trace of the stuttering, accident prone boy of old—the Great War had drawn out confidence and bravery that had surprised even Neville himself, and if she hadn't watched him evolve during their school years, she probably wouldn't have recognized him.

"What a pleasant surprise to see you, Neville—you look wonderful!" Hermione gushed as they sat down across from each other. "How is Luna?" The last she time she had seen Neville several months ago the pair were engaged.

"You know," Neville said slowly, "for the longest time, I thought I'd never know the taste of true happiness. Even now, I feel selfish, knowing how many lost their lives in the War, knowing I'm still alive when they have lost their chance to experience the future, knowing that many who have survived will never be the same again. But Luna is such an amazing woman, Hermione—we really do love each other and I doubt that's ever going to fade."

"We fought so hard to defeat Voldemort so we _could _experience the future, Neville," Hermione said, eyes misting with sadness as she thought of all the friends they had lost. "We fought so that all these incoming first years will be able to come to Hogwarts knowing that they and their loved ones will be safe and secure, and not have to live in fear. We fought for the innocents, so they could have their childhood." She smiled then, and reached forward to clasp Neville's hands in hers. "I am only too happy that you have found what we fought for. You have no reason to be selfish. None at all—is that clear?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Neville acquiesced, lips tugging upward in a half-smile.

"So what position did the Headmistress offer you?" Hermione asked, trying to move the conversation to more lighthearted topics. She'd shed all her tears during the long months of mourning after the War and was pretty certain that she had none left to cry, but she was determined to remain upbeat for the start of this new chapter of her life.

"I'm to be the new Herbology Professor," Neville answered proudly, round face shining like a bright star in the night sky.

"Oh, I knew your penchant for plants would pay off," she said, aware that she was perhaps being too overenthusiastic for the sake of lightheartedness, but not quite knowing how to tune it down. Oh well—it was better than too much doom and gloom. To spare Neville the trouble of asking, she offered, "I'm teaching Arithmancy. I've always loved numbers."

Numbers were so logical. There was a right answer, or a wrong answer. No gray areas, no room for 'what ifs.'

"Is that so? When should I expect the wedding?" he joked.

She rolled her eyes at him. "Honestly!"

He merely smiled shyly at her, an innocent look in his compassionate eyes.

How she'd missed the easy banter of friendship! Being alone had started grating on her, like an itch she couldn't quite reach. Maybe now, now that she would be in the presence of constant company and drowning in work, she'd be able to forget about Malfoy.

Yes. She would.

She definitely wasn't attracted to him—he was just so…well…_mysterious, _and there was an aspect of him that had always fascinated her. What made Malfoy tick? How could he be that…well, cruel and malicious—and seem to take such _pleasure _in it?

But she couldn't think about this, knowing she'd run into him just by accident, that it wouldn't happen again. She wasn't going to be obsessed with him the way Harry was in school. The moment she stepped off this train, she would banish him from her mind as though she were using a mere _Evanesco._

Yes.

She _would._

* * *

Hogwarts looked exactly as Hermione remembered, although it had been a trial to ignore the ache in her heart at the absence of Hagrid's comforting presence and ritual call of "Firs' years over here!"

She and Neville had been lead to the side door leading to the staff table, and they found empty seats quickly and sat down just the Sorting Hat began its song:

"_Spread before me lie the Houses Four,_

_Standing divided but with equal cores._

_Whether you be Badger, Lion, Raven, or Snake_

_You all will have the same choices to make._

"_In order for Hogwarts to rise, not fall,_

_Unity must be reached by all!"_

With that, the Sorting Hat fell silent, and Hermione couldn't help but give it a quizzical look (maybe Dumbledore had tampered with it somehow before his death—unlikely, but an amusing thought all the same). Its song had never been that short before, that blunt, even during seventh year when the War was at its peak.

Even so, she understood. Now that all Houses _were _back on equal footing—all had produced heroes and villains of the War, and even Slytherin was deemed as worthy a House as Gryffindor once was—the Hat was correct in reminding the new generations of students and those about to depart of the importance of unity, of reaching out to those about to trespass the borders of the Dark instead of leaving them to their fate.

This, Hermione thought, was what the Founders would have wanted, despite their own differences and the unfortunate events surrounding their past.

She smiled fondly at Deputy Headmaster Remus Lupin as he took charge of the Sorting, and once all the new students had a House, Minerva McGonagall stood and, after two sharp claps, the noise in the hall quieted down respectfully.

"Welcome back to Hogwarts, new and returning students alike! For those who do not yet know me, I am Headmistress Minerva McGonagall—" this introduction was met by rousing cheers from everyone, and after they had more or less died down, she continued, "and I am pleased to see Hogwarts reopen on schedule. The rules are more or less the same—the Forbidden Forest is still forbidden, there will be absolutely NO dueling or fighting of any kind in the corridors, curfew must be strictly adhered to, and House Heads will alert you to any others when you arrive at your common rooms. This year also brings us many new faculty members, although I am sure you will remember most of them. I know you are all hungry, so while I introduce the faculty and ask them to stand, I request that you kindly hold your applause and cheers for the end for time considerations.

"Remus Lupin you have already met as the new Deputy Headmaster, and he is also the Head of Gryffindor House and your Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. Nymphadora Tonks, Head of Slytherin House and Transfiguration Professor. Neville Longbottom, Herbology Professor. Anne Grubbly-Plank, whom many of you may remember from previous years, Care of Magical Creatures Professor. Hermione Granger, Arithmancy Professor—"

Hermione felt her heart flutter anxiously, and she gave a tentative smile to the array of students before her as she stood. Beside her, Neville touched her hand—a small gesture, but comforting all the same. He really had grown a great deal, and even though she knew this, she was astounded every time she was reminded of it.

"And last, but certainly not least—Draco Malfoy, Potions Professor."

With this final announcement, the hall erupted into whispers, and Hermione's expression froze as she risked a glance further down the table, where he was now standing stiffly, chin up almost defiantly. She felt Neville tense up beside her. His last encounter with Malfoy had been far from pleasant, but then again, so had hers.

Fortunately the awkward moment didn't last for long—the rest of the staff began to clap loudly, and soon the students joined in. It was then Hermione realized Minerva had put Malfoy last on purpose.

"Now let the feast begin!"

Hermione sat down numbly, but couldn't help but turn her eyes to Malfoy. So much for her master plan of not thinking about him. She knew she was openly staring at him, but she couldn't help it.

Of all the bloody things…

As though he felt her eyes fastened on him, Malfoy tilted his head in her direction, an unreadable expression on his features.

Now that she had a clear view of his face, she felt another gasp rise to her lips and viciously shoved it back down her throat. This Malfoy was nothing like the Malfoy she remembered from school. If she had thought his behavior was off when she found him drunk in the street, that just about rivaled the way he looked. His face was drawn and thin, paler than ever, and his blond hair hung long and loose—practically to his shoulders. Yet nothing shocked her more than his eyes. They were completely dull, listless, empty—she knew hers had been like that after the War, but she was certain she had moved on. On Malfoy…those eyes looked entirely out of place.

She wondered why she hadn't seen that before.

_Oh _Malfoy, she thought, _what did they do to you?_

* * *

He knew, even after he tore his eyes off hers, that she was still sneaking peeks at him when she thought he wasn't looking.

He could feel his cheeks swelling with the color of embarrassment, the memory of their last encounter a fresh imprint in his mind. The humiliation was still fresh, and the fact that she was now here, sitting _next _to him, didn't make it abate in the least. A part of him wondered why the hell he cared. He hadn't felt any strong emotion besides pain and anger in years—which had embedded itself so deeply in what was left of his heart (if he even had one by now) that he thought he'd become immune to it. The shame of his weakness in front of someone else was so acute it almost terrified him.

It was more the thought of _emotion _itself that frightened him than anything else.

Emotion.

The word almost made him shudder.

He stabbed angrily at the piece of steak on his plate as though it had done something to personally wrong him. The thought of eating it made him sick, so he was just moving his meat around his plate employing the standard playing-with-food-in-the-hope-that-it-will-disappear technique. It wasn't working, but then it never did.

He stiffened then, feeling her eyes tacked on him again. She wasn't very discreet, although she probably thought she was being enormously clever. But then she _was _a Gryffindor, and Gryffindors were as discreet as a hippogriff, which wasn't saying a lot.

Bugger it all.

He had to get out of here, although he was doing a valiant job of ignoring the sea of students spread out before him, knowing they were shooting him furtive glances and whispering about him. This was just too much. _She _was too much.

Figuring he'd put in enough of an appearance to put an end to any questioning that might commence over his exit, he pushed his chair back abruptly and left without saying a word, although he spared a courteous nod to the faculty.

He avoided looking at _her._

But he knew she was watching.

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED**

**This was the necessary 'get Draco and Hermione to Hogwarts' chapter. I really, really hope this didn't drag—there was no good place to end it, and there were so many necessary things that needed to be done. I hope the long middle section didn't sound forced at all! If Draco's emotions seem to be contrary, that's good, because they're meant to be. He's very confused right now, but don't worry—his snarkiness will return in all its glory because he's feeling insecure and is going to try desperately to cover it up now that he's in public again. His past will continue to be explained—yes, my Draco turned spy, but he's not the clichéd good guy that many fics make redeemed!Draco to be. They will kiss soon—and I have a really good first kiss scene all planned out—but if you're here just for the smut, forget it! This is more of a long character study with some angsty plot curves thrown in, and seeing as how there are years of pent up tension between Draco and Hermione (and the drunken incident just made it worse, in a way), I expect we won't get to THE KISS until about Chapter 5 or so—but it'll be worth it, I promise!**

I'm thrilled to see the feedback increasing… please do keep it up! Hopefully I should have the next chapter out by around Halloween depending on how much real life decides to interfere.

**But in the meantime, please do review, review, review! And, just out of curiosity, seeing the events of HBP, what do you all think JKR is going to do with Draco? I know what I'd like her to do, but seeing as how my initials aren't going to change to JKR anytime soon, I suppose I don't get a say in it. wistful sigh**

**But I'm rambling now, so I'll stop. Grins**

**Until next time!**


	5. Chapter Four

**Thanks to everyone for continuing reviewing, old and new names alike! And also for the longer reviews—thank you so much for taking extra time, and letting me know how you felt about the chapter in more detail! Here is the next, and things are still (unbelievably) on schedule. This is the largest amount of writing I've produced in years…depending on how much I plan to draw things out, I imagine this story to be around ten chapters, perhaps with Epilogue. So there's still a long way to go yet!**

**And somewhere in this chapter I've stolen a line from Captain Jack Sparrow in _Pirates of the Caribbean Two_—it was possibly one of my most favorite lines in the film, and so Draco that I couldn't resist putting it in. 50 House Points to those of you who can pick it out!**

**Please keep the feedback up, and I hope you all enjoy this next part!**

* * *

**Chapter Four**

* * *

"Well, you look like you've seen better days!"

Not for the first time, Draco wished magical mirrors didn't talk. It really was rather annoying—the last thing he needed was a running commentary on the state of his appearance. He did have eyes, thank you very much. He wouldn't be looking into the bloody mirror otherwise.

"If you don't shut up right now I'll shatter you into so many pieces that you won't even know what you're looking at anymore," he threatened with a slightly raised wand, aware of how ridiculous he'd look if anyone could see him. _Taunting mirrors now, are you Malfoy? What's it going to be next, a blade of grass?_

If mirrors could glower, Draco was fairly certain this one would, but all it did was mutter something unsavory and fall silent. He ignored it.

It was the morning of his first class, and Draco was sacrificing breakfast for his appearance. It was a very noble sacrifice, he thought, so what if he wouldn't have really eaten anyway? All right, so it dealt explicitly with the best ways to look out for Number One. He agreed that he hadn't been doing that very well lately—he could have fallen off a cliff, and he might not have noticed. Lucius' voice tried to make itself known in the back of his head, but he squashed it fiercely.

He frowned at himself in the full-length mirror in his bathroom. There were so many things that needed help, but he didn't know where to start. He knew that by pondering his reflection, he was avoiding the real problem, but maybe, if he fixed himself up physically, other things would mend too.

_Ah._

He'd always been vain of his hair, a shimmering pale-blond soft as spun silk, and it was desperately in need of cutting.

That was as good a place to start as any.

* * *

"There will be no wand waving in this class," Draco warned by way of introduction, quoting Snape as he stood imperiously before a frightened looking class of third years, his first class of the day. "This is Potions, not Charms, Transfiguration, or Defense Against the Dark Arts. If I see anyone with a wand the moment you enter class, I will take off points, no questions asked. Not everyone will be able to master the art of Potions making, in fact I imagine that there will be only a select few who can. Even so, no matter how incompetent you are, I expect you to _follow directions. _One mistake, no matter how small, could cost someone their life. So it is imperative that you all listen to directions and not do anything stupid. Do I make myself clear?"

No one spoke, and Draco felt his old self falling back into place now that he was the center of attention. He'd thought this was going to be hard, but maybe he'd been wrong. It was clear the students were all a little afraid of him, but if that would strike obedience into their hearts, then he hardly cared how they felt about him.

At least these were third years, so he didn't need to spoon-feed them that much. He had instructions for a potion on the board so he could judge the brewing level of the class from the beginning, and once he'd explained it to them, he sat back and let them get to work.

He leaned back in his chair, deciding he'd stalk around the room and check up on everyone in a little bit. His exhaustion caught up with him, and as some of his mental shields dropped and his eyelids began to droop, the walls of the dungeon classroom started to close in on him like the walls of a prison cell…the murmuring of the students shifted to the taunting of Death Eaters…the fumes from the potions smelled like blood…he was trapped, trapped—couldn't get out…

"Professor?"

The tentative voice of one of his students snapped him back to awareness, and it was then that he realized how his hands were white as he clutched the side of his desk, how his heart rate and breathing had accelerated unnaturally, how the room was spinning slowly.

The entire class was staring at him, waiting for some kind of explanation.

_Damn._ _Not this, not now…_

"There's something I have to do quickly," he informed them, standing up quickly and reaching to grip the table as he felt his head spin with faint dizziness. "I shall be back shortly, and if I come return and find that there has been misbehavior in my absence, you all will get detention. I don't care if it's the first day of class."

Without waiting for a response, Draco pulled his robes tightly around him and walked stiffly out the door, only stopping when he was a good deal down the hallway to lean his back against the wall. His heart was beating as fast as hummingbird wings, and he felt slightly nauseous, the way he always did when he had one of his flashbacks.

Had he really just been thinking this wasn't going to be as hard as he thought?

_Come on, Draco. Get a grip._

"Draco?"

The interruption was so unexpected that he jumped in surprise, and he tried to pull his cool exterior back on before swinging around to face the intruder.

He found himself staring at Tonks, who was wearing her hair long and brunette, streaked with purple. He remembered then that they were related, although the only times he had seen her had been at family reunions, and they'd exchanged a total of maybe four words in their lives. Stiffening involuntarily at the sight of her, he couldn't help but feel a detached sort of curiosity at her approach.

Tonks looked at him a little apprehensively, and shifted her feet nervously. The scrutiny was starting to make Draco uncomfortable, but before he could call her on it, she began, "I know I haven't been a very good cousin," she admitted, looking awkward, "and I confess I didn't really try very hard because I didn't want to. But I'd like to try now—there isn't much of our families left, and I'd like to get to know you, if you'll allow it."

He blinked at her. This was the first time anyone had said something like this to him, and he didn't really know what to do. He felt his throat tighten, and knew if he stood here much longer, with Tonks looking at him like that, looking like she actually _cared, _he would loose it. So he did what he'd always done when he was uncomfortable.

He gradually felt his lips twist into The Sneer. "How…_touching_. But you have a little problem with that—you mistook me for someone who cares." The words on their own weren't _that _bad—he'd certainly said worse. But it was the way in which he'd said them, laced them with derision, a derision he hadn't known he was capable of producing at this moment in his life. It startled him so much he couldn't find anything else to say to her.

A myriad of emotions crossed his cousin's face, finally settling for one that was a mix of disappointment and disgust. "How silly of me. Here I was, thinking that your ordeal might have changed you as a person. Granted, I don't really know how you are as a person firsthand, but I sure as hell have heard a lot, and I liked none of it. Yet here I was trying to reach out to you anyway, because you're family, because I actually know what compassion is and you wouldn't know it if it bit you in the face. And I'm sorry for that, I really am. But I won't stand for being treated like I'm some piece of dirt on the bottom of your trainer."

She stared at him, seeming to be waiting for him to say something, but although jumbled phrases were tumbling around in his mind, he couldn't seem to formulate a sentence, and what was worse, he couldn't seem to remove the sneer from his face, and he hadn't even known how it had gotten there.

His cousin's eyes hardened, and without another word Tonks turned and walked away.

_No, come back, _his mind screamed desperately. _I didn't mean it, damnit!_

But the words never left his mouth because he didn't know how to say them, and all he could do was watch as she walked away without looking back. His chest tightened with grim resolve.

Well, fine. If this was how things were going to be, this was how they'd always been, and he welcomed the familiarity. He didn't need her. He didn't need anyone.

In name, he was still a Malfoy, and Malfoys didn't need help from others. Admitting you needed help was admitting weakness. Yes, Draco had forsaken this belief when he allowed Granger to aid him that night—the remembrance still made him cringe with disgust, and he wondered how much longer he'd be able to avoid her at Hogwarts.

But Draco would be damned if he ever showed weakness to anyone again, and especially not if it were going to be thrown back into his face.

Not if he could help it.

* * *

It was only the end of the first day, and Hermione already felt frazzled.

She'd had no idea teaching was so much work, so much preparation. She knew the material—well maybe that was an understatement. She more than knew the material, she was as close and familiar with it as she was with her parents, and Hermione had always thought that teaching was a simple profession as long as you knew your stuff.

Apparently not.

The end of her first class had Hermione wanting to bash her head against the wall like a House-Elf, and the end of the second had given her a strong urge to throw herself off a cliff. Now she understood Professor Snape's attitude so much more, and she found herself wishing he were still here so she could tell him how much she'd appreciated him, how much she empathized with him. Thankfully though, a mistake in Arithmancy couldn't kill you, give you boils, burn you, explode anything, or turn you into anything unnatural.

Still, her day had been full of the incompetence of first, second, and even some of the third years, and she felt like a caged animal.

There was only one place she could go to vent without having to worry about hurting any student's feelings, and her free period before dinner found her bursting into the Staff Room in a frenzy, lamenting, "If we were inclined to bash our heads against the walls like House-Elves, that is without a doubt what I would be doing right now."

As she collapsed into a chair by the door, Tonks, the room's only other occupant, looked at her sympathetically and questioned, "Are you sure you aren't perhaps being a little over dramatic, Hermione?"

"Unfortunately I do not think I am, Tonks," she said, leaning her head back against the chair and releasing a sigh of all her pent up frustration of the day. "I mean, there are only so many ways to explain Arithmancy problems. If you don't understand it the first time, chances are you won't understand it the second, and yet I have students who just can't wrap their brains around these problems when they're not even that mentally taxing yet! There's simply no other way I can help them, although I do everything I can. Thank Merlin I have my Advanced class tomorrow!"

"Don't worry dear, at least you're only dealing with numbers…Transfiguration is even more painful. I had one of my classes turn teacups into kittens today, and I had teacups with fur, a kitten with a spout for a head and handle for a tail, a teacup with ears…any kind of possible combination, you name it, was there. And to make it worse, I ran into Draco today."

"Malfoy?" Hermione asked, trying to keep her tone casual. She couldn't help but be somewhat curious as to how _his _first day went, and wondered how close of cousins he and Tonks actually were. She couldn't imagine Malfoy being close with anyone.

"Oh yes," she said bitterly, "I don't know what I was thinking. I tried to reach out to him, because we are related, as I'm sure you know. But it was too little too late, I suppose. He treated me with suspicion and derision, naturally, and I felt guilty walking away, but I won't be talked to like that, cousins or not. I know he's been through a hard time, but despite all he's had to endure, it seems he's been around Lucius too long."

Hermione sighed, not knowing what to say. She didn't know what she felt for Malfoy anymore. She supposed, if she had to pick anything, she felt sorry for him. Had Malfoy been a different person, he might have accepted that, but he only saw it as pity and resented her for it. He didn't have to tell her—she could feel it.

"It's not your fault," she told the Metamorphmagus, "there's only so much you can do for someone, but the rest has to come from them. I just don't know about Malfoy. I feel like I should feel badly for him, but then he just opens his mouth…"

Tonks laughed, and turned to the door as the sound of footsteps entered the room. Her laughter died immediately and she stiffened, standing hastily.

"In walked in my cue to leave," Tonks murmured to her, getting up. "I'll see you later Hermione."

She was out the door so fast Hermione didn't even have time to say goodbye to her, and then, before she had the chance to follow Tonks out, she heard the voice of the newcomer behind her.

"Well, if it isn't goody-good Granger."

Oh, that wall looked _so _appealing.

* * *

Draco knew he was avoiding the dungeons because the last thing he needed right now was another flashback, but he really needed some place where he could go to relax. His feet led him to the Staff Room, and he regretted going there as soon as he opened the door.

He studiously avoided looking at Tonks as she left, and then that left him with Granger.

Perfect.

Why was this always happening to him? He wondered if Dumbledore's spirit was around here somewhere, meddling in people's lives after he was dead. The old man would love this, putting two people together who were once sworn enemies and now were…what? Not enemies, but old habits died hard.

"Malfoy." She said his name coolly, and for once he found himself unable to match a tone to her voice.

"Well don't you look happy to see me," he said, sarcasm dripping off his every word, wondering how on earth he was able to maintain his composure around her when he'd almost lost it in front of his class. "Just like everybody else in this bloody place—don't know what possessed me to come here anyway."

Why had he said that to her?

But then, why _had _he come here anyway, when he'd known the lukewarm reception he was going to receive? While no one showed open dislike anymore, they all avoided him, like he had some sort of plague. He supposed he did. If anyone touched him, they might become evil or something. But he'd suffered for _them, _hadn't he?

Hadn't he? 

"So tell me, Malfoy," she said, "why _did_ you switch sides? Did you finally realize that Daddy dearest didn't have all the answers?"

"You leave my fucking father out of this, Granger," he snarled. "I don't have to justify myself to you, to you or anyone else. I don't care what you think of my family, or what you think of me. You fucking Gryffindors are all the same. You think it actually _looked _like the Dark Lord was going to win, when bloody Potter escaped him every time? Those sort of marks add up, Granger, and they were well passed three strikes."

Then why hadn't he just told the Dark Lord and his father everything he knew about the Light and the Order when he was prisoner? That might have helped to turn the tide.

But he couldn't do it, no matter how hard he tried.

He couldn't kill for the sake of killing alone. The Dark Lord had known too, the sadistic bastard, and would have Muggles and Mudbloods brought to him, who were still alive—sometimes mothers and children too—for him to 'play' with. If he'd refused, it was the _Imperius _curse. The Dark Lord had been determined to break him.

And he'd almost succeeded.

"Oh how silly of me," she cried, laughing in astonishment, "and here I was thinking that for once in your miserable life, you'd chosen to do the right thing, that your moment of morality had _finally _come!"

"Ah, but that's where you're mistaken, Granger," he corrected her, unable to resist one more jab at the stick stuck so far up her ass it was a wonder she could even walk at all. "See, I love those kinds of moments—I live for them, actually. And do you know why? The best part about them is being able to smile and wave at them as they pass on by!"

"Oooh, you despicable, rotten…"

"Bloody Slytherin scum of a ferret?" he supplied helpfully, and at her stony glare knew he'd gotten it right, or at least pretty damn close. "Come now, Granger, if you're going to insult me, you're going to have to be a bit more creative about it. You Gryffindors are so predictable…you're basically a walking cliché of goodness and light. Well, surprise, Granger—not everyone fits your nice, pretty labels. You'd think after the War you'd have learned that there's more to defining a person than Good or Evil. I mean, think how boring the world would be if everyone were as uptight as you?"

Her mouth opened and closed like a fish, and the expression was so unlike Granger that he laughed before he even knew what he was doing. Maybe it had been slightly scornful and mocking, but it had been a genuine noise of enjoyment. The sound surprised him so much he almost choked.

When was the last time he'd laughed openly like that?

He couldn't even remember.

"I'm not boring!" she exclaimed, apparently settling on the easiest part of his accusations to answer.

He smirked at her. "Really, Granger, your comebacks just get worse and worse. You're as boring as a dead rabbit, and that's saying something since rabbits are about as interesting dead as alive."

Her head held high, she turned to leave, and stopped when she was at the door to look at him and say quietly, "You know Malfoy, I'm sorry, I really am. I'm sorry you're like this now, and I'm sorry you don't know how to be another way. Not everyone could have stood what you went through, and I'm sorry you had to. But I can't give you sorry, because all you see is pity. I don't know why I'm even trying, but I'm going to tell you now and then I won't ever again. Let people help you, before you have no one left but yourself."

She left, leaving him blinking after her.

Where had _that _come from?

Had she just offered to…?

And was he actually _thinking _about…?

Damn it all to hell and back.

Things had just gotten a little more complicated.

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED******

**Finally some real D/Hr interaction! Hopefully the next chapter should be out within the next month, as usual. Thanks again to everyone, new and old, for continuing to take the time to review—it means so much to me to hear your opinion!******

_**With that said, please keep up the reviewing!**_

_**Until next time!**_


	6. Chapter Five

**Author's Note: Well first, apologies that this took so long! Real life got in the way and all that, and a small case of writer's block had to rear its ugly head. But after several tries, I rather like this end result, and it's gone even darker than I'd originally intended. I hope you like the story I've given for Malfoy's turning—and yes, you finally find out! Please remember though that this is not compatible with HBP! The pace is going to pick up from here in, and there is lots of intense Draco/Hermione interaction to look forward to! Thanks to kertzygirl, sweet.sonata, IrethMalfoy, superelle, samhaincat, .Smart.Ass.Punk, and SwayPippin for reviewing, and I really hope you enjoy this!**

* * *

_Chapter Five_

* * *

Avoiding Granger had become Draco's new project.

Not, of course, that he hadn't been avoiding her before. But she'd presented him with something he still didn't understand, and so he treated her as he did all things he didn't understand. When he'd see her approaching, he'd quickly turn about and go in the opposite direction, even if it took him completely out of his way. If the only chair left at the Staff Table was beside her, the solution was simple—he wouldn't eat.

This had been going on for days now, but the whole thing was starting to make him angry, and his classes took the brunt of his ire. He took points off everyone for reasons that ranged from breathing too loudly to serious disasters and made several students cry. By the end of the week, all the younger students were afraid of him and the older ones treated him with…well he wasn't sure what they treated him with. It wasn't really respect, but more liked awed wariness, for it was more the sixth and seventh years who knew what he'd done in the War.

So, by the end of the week, the point counters were severely diminished for every House, and as Draco took his place at the Head Table for breakfast sandwiched between Lupin and Longbottom, they quickly accosted him about them.

"Is it really necessary for you to take your bad moods out on the students?" Lupin pressed, ever the Patiently Reasonable One. It was enough to make Draco want to throw up, and if he'd been thinking passed Granger, he would've realized that she'd made him feel more in the past week than he had in Merlin knew how long. "I don't know what's caused the snit you're in, but everyone's been talking about it, even the castle ghosts."

"I heard you even took five points off the Lancaster girl because she hiccupped in class," Longbottom pointed out, as if Draco even needed the reminder. It had been a reasonable deduction, he thought to himself, for the sound could have startled someone and caused them to put the wrong ingredient in a potion.

"Just living up to old Snape's memory," Draco remarked, words touched by a sneer, and reached for the _Daily Prophet _his owl had just dropped off, hoping they'd get the hint and leave him alone.

The headline that blazed up at him from the front page, though, made him forget everyone else in the room.

**Bellatrix Lestrange Sighted Near Hogsmeade**

_Infamous Death Eater Bellatrix Lestrange was sighted near Hogsmeade just a few days ago…_

All he could do was stare, feeling the walls of the Great Hall start to close in on him, his breath starting to come a little too quickly. That filthy _bitch. _She was the most dangerous Death Eater still alive, and had been the eager ringleader of most of his torture. It felt as though his heart had turned into a rock and had fallen out of his stomach and onto the floor.

The crazy lunatic was looking for him, of that he had no doubt. He was Unfinished Business, after all, and Bellatrix never liked leaving loose ends. Well, neither did Draco, and he had half a mind to leave right now and hunt her down himself. He was so caught up in his thoughts that it took him a few moments to notice that Lupin was trying to start another conversation with him.

"…knows better than to approach Hogwarts alone," Lupin finished, and Draco couldn't bear the thought of sitting next to him for one minute more even though he hadn't even really touched his food.

"Just sod _off, _Lupin," Draco spat, not willing to waste an intelligent insult on Lupin as he set down the paper and stood up swiftly, back taught with thinly controlled emotion. Did the wolf really not see that was exactly what the mad woman was aiming to _do_? But, Draco remembered, he _had _been a Gryffindor, and they were known for their empty, meaningless _everything will be all right _platitudes. It was disgusting, really, that they felt the need to erect a wall of naivety to protect themselves from the harsh truths of bitter reality.

Lupin pursed his lips tightly, radiating disapproval, but Draco ignored him as he walked passed the row of staff and left by the side door, resolutely ignoring all the hushed whispering.

Once he was a good distance away, he paused to lean against a wall and allowed himself a moment of weakness as he lowered his head into his hands, which had gone cold and clammy.

"Malfoy?"

_Bloody fucking hell!_

Of course he should've known she would follow him out here, probably saw the headline before he did and was waiting for some kind of reaction, and had been staring at him all during breakfast.

"For Merlin's sake, what do you _want_?" he demanded, straightening up and turning to face Granger as she approached him.

"It's the headline, isn't it Malfoy?" she questioned, eyes not quite meeting his.

He felt inexplicably angry at her persistence, and snapped irritably, "No, Granger, the porridge made my stomach feel a little funny. Why can't you just leave me _alone_?"

"You already are alone," she pointed out, and he glowered at her, not needing her to state the obvious. "Yet you continue to push people away even though they're as far away as they could possibly be."

He turned to go, not in the mood to hear this, when she called after him, "Why, Malfoy? If we bother you so much, why did you ever turn away from Voldemort?"

Draco couldn't help it—he flinched.

"You Gryffindors think you're being so brave, when you say his name," he snarled, spinning around and crossing the distance between them until he was looking directly into her eyes, the air around them practically crackling with the tension. "But you really know nothing about it, nothing about what it means…" He trailed off, not really wanting to think about it. He'd lived it.

He had to give her credit, though. She wasn't turning away from him, although he could feel that she wanted to. Maybe it was morbid curiosity, or maybe it was more of that famed Gryffindor courage that Slytherins liked to call stupidity.

"I don't know why you keep asking me this question. What do you want to hear? That I turned because it was the right, _moral _thing to do?" he demanded, spitting out _moral _quickly as though it were some kind of Highly Contagious Disease.

"No, Malfoy," she whispered, "I want the truth."

"The truth," Draco snorted, "You can't handle the truth."

She only tilted her head up higher, throwing her bushy brown hair defiantly over her shoulders. "Try me."

While a part of him wanted to tell her every bloody, gory detail out of pure spite, the other was putting its foot down. Despite everything that Granger had seen and done in the War, there was a part of her that was still innocent, still untouched by the true horrors that went beneath the dead corpses, and, as hard as it was to perform, even _Avada Kedavra's_. The things he had done, the things he had been made to do…she wouldn't even begin to be able to comprehend that sort of world.

The memories were unfolding before him now, unstoppable, and while his brain was trying to find something to put together to say to her, he found himself being transported back into the past…

_The ship sank the night Lucius Malfoy had broken out of Azkaban prison, near the end of Draco's sixth year._

_Like the rest of the Death Eaters, Lucius was summoned right to the Dark Lord's side for a meeting, and Draco was a little anxious to see his father again._

_They had a complicated relationship, and while it was not what one would call loving, because a true Slytherin did not believe in that sort of frivolity, it was certainly symbiotic—they both used the other freely, and while at times Draco resented his father's interference in practically everything he did, he knew it was necessary. He would have never gotten as far as he did in school without the fear his father's influence bought, simply because he was Malfoy. _

_Still, despite everything, he knew there was a part of him that continually disappointed his father. He was clever and cunning, but his grades were never good enough. He flew well enough, which was good until he went against Potter. In his young, blind eyes, his father was god and could do no wrong—his mother had been practically invisible, but the woman was still his mother, still bound to him by blood—and Draco was willing to do anything to make himself feel worthy, so he became a Death Eater. _

_It had been then, at his first meeting, that he'd first begun to have doubts, when he saw his father kneeling—proud Lucius actually _kneeling—_and kissing the ground of some half-blood who couldn't even kill one teenage boy, his father, who bent for no man, because that was weakness and Malfoys abhorred weakness above all else._

_But he was in, and at first it hadn't been bad at all. If only he'd known that the Dark Lord was buying his time, waiting for his chance to test Draco's loyalty…_

_Yet even if he'd possessed some inkling of the Dark Lord's designs, he'd never have been able to guess what he had in mind._

"Luciussssssss," _the Dark Lord purred as Draco saw his father perform the traditional prostration, "_I would have thought that you'd been clever enough to figure out some way to get out of prison on your own, although I should've known that, since you were dumb enough to get yourself captured in the first place, you would have bided your time and waited for me."

Uh-oh.

_Draco didn't like the sound of the Dark Lord's voice, and knew it could only mean that Something Bad was about to happen. He supposed he would never know exactly how the Death Eaters had managed to get his father out, but he knew that the Dark Lord had only invested the trouble in that plan because Lucius was a necessary player in the Cause. That didn't mean, however, that his earlier carelessness was going to go unpunished, and Draco had an increasing feeling that it wasn't going to be a simple round of _Crucio. _Oh no… it was going to be something much more painful, something much more personal than that…_

"I admit in the end that was probably the wisest course of action for you, but your sloppiness will not go unpunished." _Lucius raised his head, slowly, carefully, trying to figure out the Dark Lord's mind like everyone else. Draco wondered if anyone even knew what was going to happen, and he found himself suddenly wishing for the warmth of his bed in Slytherin House._

"Have you had time to greet your son yet, Luciussss?" _the Dark Lord said suddenly, smiling terribly, and Draco felt his blood go cold. The Dark Lord obviously had more in mind than the average pleasantries—but what? "_He was initiated early as planned, even though you were still in prison. But whether or not he actually has some spine still needs to be tested—I rather fear he is all talk, but time shall reveal all. Come here, boy, and quickly."

_Draco felt all eyes snap to him, and as he observed his father carefully climb to his feet, he broke out of the secure anonymity of the circle and walked as confidently as he could to meet them in the center._

"M'lord," _he muttered, keeping his voice low to hide its shaking, and bowed down deeply, doing his best to avoid eye contact with his father. He hated not being in control, not knowing what was approaching, and he hated his father for putting him in this position._

"I believe," _the Dark Lord went on, clearly enjoying himself, the sadistic bastard, "_that there is someone else I have summoned to us just for tonight, whom I believe you both know very well…come forward, Narcissa, if you will…"

_Fuck._

_What the bloody hell was his mother doing here? Despite father's associations, mother had never joined become a Death Eater, and while she supported the Cause, she clearly was not made out for this sort of thing, and the Dark Lord had decided that she would be much better off going to parties and the like and picking up information that way. After all these years, Draco still didn't know how he felt about his mother. He felt certain that she loved him, but from a distance, as though she couldn't afford to let herself get too close to him because he was just a pawn in this power struggle of his father's, and if he outlived his usefulness, well…_

_Narcissa, cold and beautiful as a statue, stood as removed as ever, although he thought he could detect a hint of sadness in her eyes. But then he blinked, and it was gone, if it had even been there at all._

"I believe this will be a suitable punishment for you, Luciussssss," _the Dark Lord said, voice a dangerous hiss, and then, before Draco even had time to think about what was going to happen, the Dark Lord suddenly turned to him and commanded, "_Kill her, boy."

_A silence thick as fog descended on the group. No one dared to speak or breathe too loudly, and Draco thought he was going to choke on the tension._

_And what was worse, he couldn't seem to wrap his mind around the order he had just been given. _

_While it was true that Narcissa was too cold to raise a child and had rarely been at home, she was still his _mother_. Yes, he'd pledged in the vow that he'd do anything to serve the Dark Lord…but he'd never counted on something like this! _

_He stared at his mother, and she stared back at him, her face betraying nothing of her feelings. He could feel the eyes of his father pinned on his back, willing Draco to leave what was left of his heart out of the equation to raise himself in the Dark Lord's esteem and to put Lucius back in the Dark Lord's favor._

_It would've been too easy to ask Lucius to murder his own wife, because Lucius had sold his soul to the Dark Lord a long time ago. Yet Narcissa _was _his wife, and the Dark Lord found it oddly satisfying to have Lucius watch his son's weak heart in action...it would be punishment enough to the man to see that his son was not nearly as ruthless as he made himself out to be, that, despite appearances, Draco didn't have the required strength that Lucius had always boasted of…_

"No."

_Draco stood defiantly, hearing his father growl wordlessly behind him, staring at his mother's impassive face, searching for some kind of affection, for just a small amount of proof that would show him she had truly loved him, if only a little._

"I believe you misunderstood me, young Malfoy,"_ the Dark Lord sneered, the terrible smile growing even wider as his predictions came true,_ "that was not a request."

_Draco continued to stand, arms folded across his chest, as numbness proceeded to descend upon him like a blanket. The Dark Lord could do whatever he liked to him, and while people could accuse him of many things, no one would ever be able to accuse Draco Malfoy of matricide…_

"Ah well, that leaves me no choice really, but everyone learns the cost of disobedience at some point," _said the Dark Lord, the sneer that spread across his face twisting the smile into a truly grotesque expression._

_He should have seen it coming, but even if he had, there would have been nothing he would've been able to do about it. He braced himself._

_And then—_

"Imperio."

_His wand arm moved of its own free will, and no matter how hard he tried to resist, it was no use. Filled with the Dark Lord's power, the burst of green light just about blinded him, and he was breathing heavily when the Unforgiveable was released, doing his best not to retch as his eyes were forcibly drawn to his mother's now very dead body._

_As the haze lifted, he was dimly aware of the Dark Lord as he said,_ "We'll make a proper Death Eater out of you yet…"

"Malfoy?"

He blinked, shook his head, and refocused his eyes on Granger, having been so lost in the past that he'd completely forgotten the present. But he remembered her question.

And, after another pregnant pause, he finally settled on, "Revenge."

Someday, maybe, he would tell her. Yet for right now, it was as much of the truth as he was willing to give her. She should be lucky he had even decided to give her that much.

She looked at him long and hard as she digested his answer. But, instead of demanding more information, she went down another path and said, "I know what you want to do, Malfoy. I know you intend to hunt down Lestrange and kill her yourself."

He waited for her protestations, the worst of his sarcasm on holiday as he didn't have enough energy to summon it after that horrible flashback.

"I want to come with you."

"Don't even try to talk me out of it Granger—" he began, responding without even really listening to her. But then he stared at her, hearing the echo of her words. "Wait…you what?"

"That woman has been responsible for injuring and killing many who I used to know and love—Sirius Black and Bill Weasley among them—and has been the cause of much of Harry's suffering. I'm sure you're aware that she's a formidable adversary, Malfoy—she's reckless and ruthless, and is probably more dangerous now than she ever was. I can't in good conscience let you go after her alone, and she has wronged me and my friends in so many ways that for their sakes and mine, I want to see her destroyed as much as you and everyone else does," she argued, voice fierce, and sounding nothing like the Granger he remembered from school.

Maybe he'd misjudged her.

He continued to stare at her, not quite believing her, and it was then that he realized just how close he was to her, and he found himself suddenly aware of everything about her, the closest female contact he'd had in months, and unbidden his body responded to her.

His eyes drifted down to her lips quite of their own accord, and very much against the logical part of his mind, his head dipped even lower until his mouth was inches away from hers.

She did not move, and he wondered what she was thinking. Despite what he thought of her, he was strangely pulled to her, this chit of a girl who was constantly surprising him when he thought he'd had her figured out…

Taking the unspoken dare, he moved even closer, and whether she wanted to or not, her lips instinctively turned up towards his, and then—

_BAM._

The water balloon hit Draco square in the back, the moment between them ruined like his soaked robe, and he whirled around to face Peeves the Poltergeist, who was floating above them wearing a triumphant grin, his arms laden with more balloons.

"What's this?" he cackled, throwing another balloon at them which hit the ground by Granger's feet, "Professors behaving like ickle firsties?"

Draco's wand was out in an instant as he advanced on the hapless Poltergeist. Fortunately, the thing was dead, but Draco hadn't spent years in the Dark Lord's court for nothing.

His voice was low, dangerous, and cold as he hissed, "You throw one more balloon, just one, and I'll have you wishing you weren't even dead…"

Usually, Peeves only listened to the Bloody Baron, although there were a few exceptions, and it was obvious that he was a little frightened by Draco, rightly sensing that he had not made an idle threat. Laughing maniacally at the trouble he'd just caused, Peeves zoomed away, leaving Draco with a Very Awkward Moment on his hands.

And, for once, he was speechless. _What the hell had he been _thinking? _Surely he hadn't just been going to…? _

"Er," Granger said, studiously avoiding meeting his eyes now, "I have a class soon so I suppose I should, um, be going…"

"Right," he said quickly, hoping she hadn't sensed his uneasiness. _For fuck's sake, you've faced down the bloody Dark Lord! This is GRANGER, queen of rabbits and sunshine and all things fluff…get a grip!_

She lingered a moment longer, as if she were waiting for him to say something more, but when he didn't, she began to walk down the hall, back straight.

Suddenly remembering something, Draco called after her, "Oh, and Granger?"

She turned, an indescribable expression on her face.

"If you want to help me kill this bitch, meet me tonight after dinner. She's not going anywhere—she knows I'll come after her. Just don't fuck anything up." _Then maybe you'll see me as I really am, not as something you've put in my place._

"Oh don't worry—I'll be there," she said, voice sharp as cut glass, and disappeared down the hall.

It was a very long time before Draco moved, his thoughts trapped between past and present.

One thing was for sure—Bellatrix Lestrange was going to wish she'd never touched him before he was done with her.

* * *

**To Be Continued**

**_Ah, more D/Hr romantic tension! Please do tell me if you think I'm rushing things a bit! And, just to give credit where credit is due, the line "You can't handle the truth" comes from the movie _A Few Good Men.**

Please let me know what you think! I hope to have the next chapter out before Christmas…until then, please review, review, review! puppy dog eyes

_**See you all next time!**_


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